George
by MornMeril
Summary: George/Lee pre-slash, or friendship if you squint - George is dealing, or not dealing, with the death of his twin. one-shot/complete


**George**

Pairing: George/Lee - though very mild and, if you squint, can be read as friendship

Rating: somewhere between PG and PG-13

Warnings: dealing with depression, un-beta-ed, mild spoilers for DH, angst

Disclaimer: i own nothing

**A/N:** honestly, i have NO IDEA where this came from. i have never written a story with either of the two (except for mentioning them on the side), so i don't know as to how the characterisation worked out. i typed this in one go because the crazy plot bunny that tackled me last night wouldn't let me continue with my other fics before i got this out of my system.

anyway, it's esentially pre-slash but very mild so i guess it can be passed off as friendship. my stuff isn't usually that tame, lol, but i guess it's done me some good to write something different in-between my long-term projects.

as mentioned above, it's un-beta-ed, so all mistakes are mine. present tense is usually not my tense of choice so there might be some mix ups, but it just seemed to fit the story.

and now i'll shut up and let you read. let me know what you think ;).

* * *

George doesn't think there are any mirrors left in the flat. He dimly remembers smashing them all within the first three days after returning here. He thinks that it was Ginny who cleared the mess away, but really, he can't be sure. There are always people around their – _his_ – flat lately so it's hard to keep track.

Mum has just left – _'I left you something to eat in the kitchen, dear.' – _and George is grateful to be free of her forcefully cheerful chatter. He doesn't know if she thinks she's actually fooling him, but then again he doesn't want to destroy her bubble and so he simply nods in regular intervals and keeps his verbal responses to a minimum.

George is sure that _he_ isn't fooling her in the slightest, but he can read her exhaustion in her eyes, knows how tightly she is holding onto the last shards of her control when she looks at him and so they have come to a silent agreement of keeping things simple. She keeps her back to him throughout most of her inane prattling and he pretends that nothing has changed.

He has gotten used to the way people flinch when they look at him, at least that's what he thinks. All of his siblings seem to feel some kind of obligation to look after him now that he's alone. They never put it like this, of course, but the implication is all too clear.

Out of all of them, his dad is probably the worst. He seems to have this habit of wanting to talk about what has happened, wants to _remember_.

But George doesn't need his father for that, he remembers all on his own. He cannot escape the memories. They haunt him with every step he takes in the flat, haunt him when he descends into the shop and, worst of all, they haunt him in his sleep.

It's not that he doesn't understand that his family is concerned, it's just that he can't bring himself to care. He can't bring himself to care about anything, lately and although he knows, somewhere in the back of his head, that that isn't healthy, he can't help it.

The shop has not reopened. George knows he isn't capable of facing anyone, has a hard enough time coping with the forced visits of his family to have any energy left once he has finished interacting with them.

/-/

When Ron is accompanied by Harry the next day, George wonders, absently, when he has last seen someone who doesn't have red hair.

Harry is trying, George can tell, but he is still Harry and so the unreasonable guilt he carries around with himself is painted all over his face and he can't look at George any more than any other member of the family.

Whatever Ron thought to accomplish by bringing his best friend, it hasn't worked and when he returns a week later, he is alone again. George doesn't know if he's relieved or not.

/-/

The next time he sees someone other than his siblings or parents, is when Ginny brings along Lee. George can't remember when he has last seen him, only vaguely remembers being on _Potterwatch_ with him. It's a long time ago, because then Fred was still alive and his life had still been in one piece.

When Lee looks at him, he is the first person to do so without flinching. His dark eyes never waver from him as his brow furrows in concern when he takes in what must be the worst state George has ever been in.

Ginny, like any other member of his family, has brought him food which she deposits in the kitchen. She bustles about, cleaning up the worst of the mess and collecting some of their mother's plates to take back home. They all seem to think that food is what he requires most and so he doesn't mention that he never eats it.

She looks more like their mother everyday and though her demeanour is less cheerful, she still attempts to smile at him and chat away without feeling the need to be answered.

Lee is silent, his eyes moving from George to Ginny and back again and George wonders if the scene is as clear to him as it is to himself. After having made sure that all the points on her 'Check up on George'-list were ticked, Ginny informs him of an important engagement and promises to come back next week, as she always does.

George wonders who has thought of this new strategy as he looks at Lee from across the room. Neither of them has moved, George still sprawled on the couch in a pair of jogging pants and a hopelessly rumpled t-shirt and Lee by the small dining table by the kitchen counter.

Now that he lives here alone, George has moved the couch from the living room into the kitchen, barely managing to cramp it into the small space under the only window. He could not bear to be in the living room, the largeness of the room oppressing instead of liberating and most of Fred's stuff spread out on the floor and coffee table.

The kitchen is nice enough, George thinks, and it also saves him from walking passed Fred's bedroom to get to his own. Before now, he has never really been in the kitchen. Neither Fred nor he could cook and their mum had insisted on continuing to cook for them. When they hadn't eaten at the Burrow, they had gone out or ordered in and so this room was the only one George could actually breathe in.

When it's clear that Lee isn't leaving, George resigns himself to his fate and waves vaguely at one of the chairs. Lee hesitates, as though taking a seat would be somehow more obtrusive than simply remaining in his flat standing up.

"This place is…really nice.", Lee says slowly, clearly searching for something to say.

George shrugs and his cramped muscles ache at the movement. He recalls that the few times that Fred and he had met up with Lee after leaving Hogwarts, it had always been at pubs and restaurants.

When it is obvious that George isn't intending to be anymore forthcoming, Lee sighs and drags one of his hands through his unruly hair.

"Listen George", he says slowly, choosing his words carefully, "we both know that your family asked me to come see you 'cause they're worried. We also know that you can't go on like this. So my offer is that you try, just _try_, to speak to me for a little while so that I can tell your family you haven't gone completely bonkers and maybe so you can tell _yourself_ that you are actually still alive."

George blinks. Then blinks again. This isn't at all what he expected. When was the last time anyone has actually _talked_ to him, or at least tried to before their attempts died a slow and painful death?

Weighing his options, George shifts slightly, heaving himself into a more upright position. If he humours Lee, he might get some piece and quiet for a change. He would talk, Lee would pass their conversation on to his family and then consider his duty fulfilled. His family would tick off this particular option in the 'cure George'-plan and life would be moving on.

"Fine", he rasps, finally, his voice sounding as if he hasn't used it in days – and maybe he hasn't.

Something like relief flitters across Lee's face, but he can't be certain. He wonders if Lee actually cares, or if he's simply here due to some kind of obligation to his family or Fred. Lee has always been more Fred's friend than George's, simply because Fred had always been the more cheerful and talkative of the two of them.

"Great", Lee sounds as if he means it, "Then why don't you start by telling me why you've taken up permanent residence in your kitchen."

It's not a question, more like a demand, and George almost likes it because for once there is more required than a 'yes' or 'no'. There is something in Lee's voice that sounds as if the other boy has no intention of coddling him, or treating him like a raw egg.

For a moment he contemplates lying, but then he merely shrugs again and decides that the truth does not necessarily mean he has to spill his deepest fears and desires.

"It's a nice kitchen.", he answers vaguely, "Fred didn't like it."

He doesn't know if he actually meant to say the last bit, but now it's out and George opts for biting his tongue in order to prevent anything else from tumbling out.

Lee's expression doesn't change, only his eyes seem to soften around the edges.

"I see.", he says softly, before letting his gaze wander around the room, "I don't know, I quite like it. But then again, Fred would probably rather have chopped off his hand than so much as boiled water."

Somehow George's mouth inches upwards around the edges, the movement minimal and painful because of disused muscles trying to accomplish something they have forgotten how to do. This is different from his father, lacking the wistfulness and forced attempt at recalling only the best of his brother.

Fred wasn't a saint. He's probably turning around in his grave every time their father acts as if he has never wronged anyone. Fred had been a joker at best and an asshole at worst, but he had also been George's twin, his best friend, his other half and, despite everything, had had a heart of gold under all his quirks.

Guilt sparks to life in his chest and the small smile is gone before it has a chance to unfold. Fred is gone and George has been left broken and incomplete. Fred is gone and George is still here.

"George", Lee's voice is gentle as it penetrates his mind, reaching his ears – _or rather ear _– as though through a vacuum.

Looking up, George is startled by Lee's suddenly close proximity. The other man hasn't touched him, but he need only reach out a hand to do so.

"I don't think this is working.", George admits hoarsely, twisting the edge of his shirt between shaking fingers.

Lee looks at him, a thoughtful expression on his face, as he seems to be contemplating something.

"When was the last time you've eaten?", he asks then, tone neutral rather than accusing.

Nevertheless, this is more familiar territory and George answers easily.

"I don't know."

Lee merely nods, straightening from the slight hunch he had been in, in order to capture George's gaze.

"I thought as much.", he says as he makes his way over to the counters.

George looks dispassionately at the covered plate Ginny has deposited next to the stove only minutes ago. He feels sick at the mere sight of it.

"I don't want to eat that."

Lee doesn't need specification and to George's surprise, he simply draws his wand, uncovers the plate and unceremoniously points its tip at the pie that lies innocently across the familiar faded flower pattern that adorns all of his mother's crockery.

"_Evanesco_"

George blinks, but Lee has already moved on, spelling the plate clean and putting it aside, seemingly not in the slightest guilty for vanishing a perfectly cooked pie.

"What do you fancy?", Lee asks casually, already opening and closing cupboards in search of ingredients.

"I don't think I have anything that can be cooked", George offers, still not entirely able to comprehend what just happened.

"Mhm", Lee hums almost noncommittally, "are you sure?"

George isn't sure, but he chooses to remain silent, wondering when Lee has become such a grown up. Together with Fred, they had been a devastating team, always loud and laughing and talking incredible nonsense. Now there seemed almost nothing left of that, though if it was due to Fred's absence or Lee's maturing George couldn't say. The war has changed them all, it seems.

"Ha!", the small sound of triumph tears George from his musings and when he looks back up, Lee is holding a carton of eggs in one hand and an unused frying pan in the other.

Putting down both, the pan on the stove and the eggs next to it on the counter, Lee retrieves his wand once more and waves it in a few precise movements. George finds himself fascinated by it, the only other person he ever witnessed in a kitchen being his mother who is frantic about everything she does. Lee's motions are casual and well aimed and not a minute passes before all six of the eggs are sizzling in the pan.

George has no recollection of who has brought what, but Lee is able to extract salt, some strange tin of mixed seasoning and even a slightly worn pepper from his cupboards.

Soon there are two plates on the table George is unsure whether ever having been used before and Lee places two sets of cutlery as well as two glasses of water by the steaming plates before sitting down.

The other man doesn't say anything, but he doesn't start without George either. The smell of the freshly cooked food awakens something inside of him and it's with less hesitancy than he thought that George rises from the sofa and sinks down opposite of Lee.

As soon as George has taken the first bite, Lee follows suit. Suddenly overcome with a hunger that is so great that it feels as if it's tearing at George's stomach from the inside, he begins to stuff food into his mouth and swallows it without having chewed it properly.

Before he can ram another forkful into his mouth, however, Lee's warm hand closes over his own, stopping the movement in mid-motion.

George is so startled at the touch that he chokes on his half-chewed food and has to gulp down some water in order to help the pieces glide down his throat. He cannot remember when he has been touched last, can only recall that after he severely struggled against the embraces that various members of his family tried bestowing upon him, they had simply stopped altogether. He doesn't know that he's missed it until now.

"Careful, or you'll vomit it all out again after you've finished.", Lee warns him, his gaze fixed intently upon him, "You stomach needs to get used to proper meals again."

George doesn't know what else to do, so he nods and when Lee withdraws his hand he is unsure whether he is relieved or disappointed.

When he resumes eating, it's at a much slower pace.

/-/

When Lee is back the next day, George is once again torn from his lethargy by surprise, something the other man obviously excels in.

Lee doesn't comment on the fact that George is still wearing the same jogging pants and that his shirt is even more rumpled than yesterday, simply deposits a bag packed with groceries on the counter and starts to spell them into the cupboards.

George watches him with rekindled interest, wondering whether Lee can actually cook more than scrambled eggs.

He can.

Not half an hour later, George is rolling spaghetti onto is fork and chewing them carefully. He had felt sick yesterday after eating, though not so bad as to having had to empty his stomach, which was a relief. He does enough of that when his nightmares become too much.

They hardly talk throughout Lee's stay and George is grateful that Lee isn't attempting to encourage conversation. When Lee starts to spell the dishes clean, however, George replaces them in the cupboard with a flick of his own wand. For a moment he's sure that he has forgotten what it feels like to do magic.

/-/

When Lee returns the next day and finds George still in the same clothes, he orders him into the shower before what has obviously now become their customary meal. For a moment George considers protesting, but then decides that it's too much effort and simply shuffles into the bathroom and into the shower.

Fred's soap and shampoo are still exactly where his twin left them the last time he had been in here and George's stomach cramps at the sight. He purposefully turns his back on them, washing as quickly as he can without emerging with suds still clinging to him. He has to admit that the water does feel good compared to mere cleaning spells.

When he stumbles out of the stall, he snatches up the first towel in his reach, but it's the one Fred gave to him as a joke last Christmas and George has to bury his head in it to cut it from his sight.

He tries to breathe through it, but it still feels more like suffocation than anything else. Letting the towel slide from his grasp, George reaches for the sink to support himself and although there is no mirror, each and every one of Fred's belongings lies before him, untouched. Even his toothpaste, which has slid into the sink, is still open from when he had hurried from their home for the last time.

George stares at the toothpaste as if it's his brother's ghost, his vision blurring just as his breathing grows more frantic. He is so far gone that he doesn't know Lee has come to look for him until the other man's hands are on him.

Unthinkingly, George turns towards the warmth of Lee's body, falling forward into his clothed form.

"Breathe", Lee urges gently as his arms wrap themselves around George's shivering form, "Breathe, George, come on. With me, in – out"

George struggles to comply, pressing his eyes tightly shut as he buries his head against Lee's warm neck.

Slowly, his lungs stop aching and George becomes aware of his surroundings. Lee's front is drenched from where he is pressed against George's naked, and still thoroughly wet, body. The warm skin under his cheek is slippery, although with water or tears George cannot say.

He should feel embarrassed, but he doesn't and instead of moving away he stays wrapped up in Lee's warmth, breathing in his unfamiliar scent and wishing it would never stop. He is so very warm…

"George?", Lee questions carefully, though his grip on his naked skin never falters.

"He hated peppermint toothpaste", George mumbles into Lee's neck, exhaustion weighing heavily on him, "That's why he had his own, always squeezed it from the middle too. Bloody annoying, smeared the strawberry paste all over the sink…"

What to George is becoming an unshakable calm never falters as Lee wraps him into a bathrobe that has come out of nowhere – _he probably transfigured it_, George muses – and gently steers him from the room without letting go of him.

George follows unseeingly, stumbling repeatedly, but Lee catches him every time and he is half asleep by the time he is deposited on a soft surface and covered with a duvet.

When George awakens, it is to Lee reading the paper at the dining table. He's endlessly grateful that he's not in his bedroom and closes his eyes for another moment, before finally opening them for good.

Lee looks up when he hears him shifting into a seating position. George is still wrapped into the transfigured bathrobe and he instinctively draws it closer around his scrawny form. His irregular eating habits are showing more than he realised.

"Are you hungry?", Lee asks carefully.

The safe question, George thinks, but is surprised that he actually is. He nods, not yet trusting his voice to form an appropriate reply and Lee rises immediately, uncovering the food he undoubtedly prepared while George was in the shower.

George moves to get up, but Lee is already there, handing him the plate and a fork without comment. Gratefully, he sinks back against the cushions, feeling not yet well enough to get up.

"Can I...?", Lee trails off, pointing at the foot of the couch.

Nodding, George draws his feet closer to his body, dragging the duvet back with them. Lee carefully takes a seat, as if George would change his mind any minute and kick him off it.

"You just held me while I had some sort of fit. Naked", George cannot help but say, while starting to eat, "I think you are allowed on my couch without asking."

For a moment, Lee's eyes are wide with surprise as if hearing George speak is the last thing he expected. And maybe it is.

After the initial shock, Lee's full lips curved into a careful smile and he starts on his own plate.

"I'll have to remember that for next time.", he chuckles softly, "So does that mean you'll actually talk to me now? Or was this just a one-time occurrence?"

George could be offended, but instead feels a small grin pulling at the edges of his mouth.

"I'll think about it", he teases, "We might come to a beneficial agreement."

"Oh?", Lee raises an eyebrow, the fork that he has just meant to put in his mouth suddenly abandoned in mid-air.

"Yeah, like 'in exchange for being my houseelf, I actually talk to you'.", it comes out less as a joke than he intended and the atmosphere suddenly shifts.

Carefully, Lee puts his plate aside, before folding his legs underneath him and facing George across the sofa.

"Despite what you think", he begins slowly, "I actually do this because I want to."

George's food is forgotten as he focuses all of his attention on the man in front of him. It feels good to engage his mind again after so long.

"Why?", he asks, the question simple in syntax but not in meaning.

Lee smiles sadly, almost wistfully, and his gaze shifts away for a moment, before returning to him.

"Do you have to start with the complicated questions?"

Despite himself, George has to smile again. It seems as though it's actually becoming a habit.

"Okay, that means we'll have to stick to the plan of forming a beneficial agreement.", he says, and though his voice is light George his serious this time, "If you come and visit every day, I will tell you about myself and make an effort to get over…this."

Lee is listening attentively, nodding his confirmation when George pauses to underline his words with a vague gesture.

"But in return", he goes on, looking intently at the other man, "I want to know about you too. Hell knows I'll need some kind of distraction when I chew through all my crazy thoughts."

Something flits through Lee's eyes, something that looks a lot like fear, but also somehow like hope. George finds himself even more intrigued.

"Deal.", Lee says then, before grabbing his plate once more, "And now finish your lunch – or dinner I should say."

George knows that even though his mouth curves only slightly, his eyes are sparkling again for the first time since Fred has gone.

"Yes, mother."

And when George Weasley takes his plate and resumes eating he thinks that maybe, maybe he has a slight chance of becoming whole again.


End file.
